


Misplaced Papers from Dr Watson’s Journals

by Luthienberen



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Arachnophobia, Friendship, Gen, M/M, POV First Person, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25035373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: A collection of stories not included in Doctor Watson's recordings of Mr Holmes' cases, but rather in a private collection not to be shared outside his immediate intimate circle of friends. Some tales are supernatural in nature, or ones of horror, or of simple enjoyment or other peculiarities.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11
Collections: Untold Tales from Doctor Watson’s Journals, Watson's Woes JWP Collection: 2020





	Misplaced Papers from Dr Watson’s Journals

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Watsons Woes](https://watsons-woes.dreamwidth.org/) July Writing Prompts 2020. For the prompt, I chose the following fear: _Arachnophobia_ – a fear of spiders.  
>  _Prompt #2: Phobias Redux:: Let’s revisit an old prompt. Either Watson or Holmes has a phobia. Who is it, why do they have it, and how did the other discover it?_

* * *

July was hot and unpleasant this year, pressing down upon the populace of London in a suffocating humid heat. Our rooms in Baker Street were intolerable even with the windows flung open and the blinds drawn to try and prevent some of the sun from penetrating. Yet somehow, despite all our efforts, Holmes and I were reduced to our shirts and rolled up trouser legs by mid-morning.

We were unfit for Mrs Hudson to call upon us, let alone any visitors. Unfortunately for my dear companion it appeared that the rest of London agreed, even the Inspectors of Scotland Yard had not called upon us for a week.

Only Holmes’ preoccupation with a minor (yet curious) affray with a visiting Russian ballet troupe halted the inevitable slide into dark melancholy moods and screeching on the violin instead of the wonderful ecstasies of music he could summon.

My own practice was alas silent beyond the initial flurry of patients pleading for cures to heat stroke, and being unable to assist Holmes whilst he scurried about seeking clues in London clubs, (the nature of which were quite delicate), I was quite desperate myself for a distraction.

Thus, Doctor Kazimir Kotov calling to check whether I was available to help clean their supplies in the London Hospital was a siren call.

Unfortunately, it was not until our arrival that I realised the problem.

“Watson? Are you well?” asked Doctor Aleksander Wójcik, my partner in crime, concerning “missing” cats and distracting broody private detectives.

I stared through the door that lead to the storeroom with trepidation. The storeroom was below street level, old and much disused until doctors Wójcik, Kotov and Darling set up their area for patients to help with overflow in the main London Hospital areas. Cool darkness, filled with mildew rolled out to me, chilling my flesh – welcoming and pleasant after the muggy heat outside.

However, the enticing darkness was a mockery to my senses and my personal nightmare flickered at the corners of my consciousness.

How could I explain without being deemed weak?

No, best not to say anything. I had faced Maiwand, brushed past Jack the Ripper and accompanied Holmes on innumerable perilous cases, I could face a damp storeroom.

“Nothing Aleksander, just lost in my memories.”

My friend was clearly unconvinced but did not argue. I pretended not to see the quick glance he exchanged with Kotov and steeling my nerves I began the descent.

The light footsteps of Aleksander followed with the heavier tread of Kotov. The damp darkness was broken by the light of our lanterns with the stone walls appearing like ghosts to frighten children. This solider certainly felt like a child at their sight. My brow was wet with perspiration and not from the humid heat or the coldness within this storeroom.

Something black and rotund scurried across a piece of stone masonry and I just barely swallowed my cry.

_Get a grip man!_

Our footsteps seemed dreadfully loud, even Aleksander who was so slight I sometimes wished to weigh his pockets down with a couple of medical pocketbooks and possibly a particularly heavily decorated time piece.

Now however, his footsteps were heavy and between Aleksander and Kotov it had the effect of making me feel as if a tomb was being closed: first the white lid of the coffin, graven from marble, then the footsteps of the mourners retreating until at last the door of the tomb swung shut…and then that black and hairy shape appearing within the gloom of the tomb to crawl over the coffin and squeeze through a minuscule gap…

“John?” This time it was the low calm voice of Dr Kotov who spoke and jolted me from my foolish fancies.

Pausing on the step, I blinked as the world seeped back.

_Shadows and light._

Anxious not for my mind not to wander again I turned to see the faces of my companions lit up by their lanterns like ghastly masks.

Kotov examined me cautiously and asked quietly, “Are you sure you are well? We can rest and have a cup of tea that you English are so fond of perhaps?”

“Thank you, but no Kazimir, I am well, just my imagination getting the best of me.”

“If you say so. Shall we proceed then?”

One of the qualities I enjoyed about Kazimir was his calm acceptance of facts and simply plunging on with matters, (especially when he looked after Holmes for me during my holiday in Wales), instead of wasting time trying to discuss a topic. That said, he had the ability of being correct, in that any problems would crawl out of the woodwork and be dealt with eventually.

Crawling was not a word I wished to linger on currently so I resumed my reluctant descent. I couldn’t let my friends down.

However, as my eyes adjusted once more I realised we were close to the bottom of the stairs. Our light was collected into a pale yellow glow bathing the final three steps and a patch of the ground.

“Dear heavens!”

My wits escaped me, for the stone floor was a heaving mess of bodies crawling about. Eight legs, hairy and skeleton like, aided the movement of hairy bodies across the damp stone as the creatures sought a drier abode.

_Spiders!_

_Thousands of them! As if the light had awoken them from slumber some of the mass changed direction and began to crawl over the final step whilst others began the ascent up a wall I could see already had some white fragments of web remaining._

“They are coming up the steps!”

Aleksander grunted as I turned, dropping my lantern in my attempt to flee. I managed to grab the short and slight frame of my friend, preventing him from being knocked over in my flight, and tried dragging him up and past Kotov who stood aside in astonishment.

“Dear heavens Kazimir, you must run!”

All I recalled after that was a blur and Aleksander’s low soothing voice speaking, but it was lost to the memories.

_Lying sick in my bed after Maiwand, unable to move when conscious beyond simple twitches for I was drugged to the skies on a dangerous mixture of laudanum and morphine and ridden by fever._

_The dreadful heat of the day cooling to the chill of the night as the sun sunk in the sky and then they would come: the insects and arachnids scuttling and crawling, seeking food and shelter, drawn by the food the nurses attempted their patients to eat or drink._

_Occasionally a little bit of sugar was left out, spared for a high ranking officer who held fort in a bed in the makeshift hospital so he could suffer alongside his soldiers and keep up morale._

_This attracted the flies which drew the spiders even more and more than once, half-awake in fevered drugged dreams I would witness legs appearing over the edge of my bunk and beginning to crawl over my legs and up my twitching terrified body. What colour or species I could never retell for the night concealed all and the lights in the tents were dimmed for the comfort of the patients._

_No, all was grey and blue shadows with flicker of light revealing horrors as if some twisted fairy tale monster or demon had come to take payment._

_My throat would work uselessly to scream at the nightmare and at the sensation of the spider’s passage: creeping tickles and pinpricks and cold calculation until finally a blessed nurse would arrive and remove the arachnid coming to eat me._

“ _Doctor John Watson, Assistant Surgeon to the_ _Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and the 66th Regiment_ , I **demand** that you stop this nonsense now!”

The cold harsh tone shredded my memories and Maiwand and the cold tent vanished to be replaced by the hard uncomfortable floor of the London Hospital. Under my head was something soft and as I took in my two companions I realised it had to be Aleksander’s waistcoat and jacket for he was only in his shirtsleeves.

He was kneeling beside me, face pale with worry whilst Kazimir – who had been the one to break the spell – was standing beside a figure I knew well. Shame burned hotter than the summer day at the anxious expressions on both their faces.

“Sherlock,” I managed to croak at last.

“No, none of that my dear John. We all have fears that haunt our waking and non-waking worlds.” Long thin fingers touched my shoulder and squeezed so gently tears filled my eyes.

“There is no shame in being afraid of spiders John,” my dearest friend whispered, his normal façade of coolness dropped. Instead, his grey eyes were pools of comfort, his voice sweet and his touch one of tenderness.

My tears fell at this example of affection, rarely displayed in public and all the more sought and experienced once bestowed. I was wet with the sweat of my anxiety already, but my tears added an extra layer of dampness to my slick forehead that Aleksander must have been sponging, considering the white cloth in one hand and the dish of water by his left knee.

He smiled at my tearful glance. “I am not fond of spiders either John and if you had said something, Kazimir and I would have cleared the area first before allowing you down there.”

“But-”

“But nothing,” said Kazimir with a growl. Then his tone became apologetic, “I am sorry for how I shouted at you John, but when I returned with Mr Holmes, Aleksander said that his attempts to shake you from your nightmares had failed, so I played the “dirty trick”.”

“All forgiven,” I rasped.

“Excellent,” remarked Aleksander, “Next time we will forge ahead on spider clearance duty – we can find a new home for them I am sure – and then you can join us. What do you think Mr Holmes?”

“That your idea is excellent,” said my traitorous detective. “Now, what do you prescribe for your patient Doctors Kotov and Wójcik?”

“A bath, rest, followed by a good meal and more rest,” declared Kazimir. Aleksander agreed, adding that he would mix up a small sleeping draught for me.

Really, their support for this shaken up solider and doctor was too much. Exhausted, I submitted with some reluctance that was only tempered by Holmes announcing that he would require some assistance from a surgeon this evening for the next step in his secretive plan to help the Russian ballet.

The wary expressions Aleksander and Kazimir exhibited at this were some small form of satisfaction at being bed bound.

My “good luck” to them had two raised eyebrows and gave me the inclination that a discussion on my fear of spiders would be the next topic at our fortnightly catch-up.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the [Untold Tales from Doctor Watson’s Journals](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Journals_of_Doctor_Watson/profile) Universe.


End file.
